Tag: drug dealers

Enough Of The Fucking Surfing The Dark Web Videos.

As We are all aware in the YouTube Universe there are a Myriad of Different Genres so Basically if You Name it and You can Find it. Ever since the General Public was made Aware of the Existence of the Dark Web People have become fucking Obsessed about it. And Why Not it’s in Our Nature to be Drawn to things that Mystify, Alarm Us, Scare Us, or is Dangerous/Forbidden/Taboo. At this Point in Time the Dark Web has a Reputation that’s Almost an Urban Legend unto Itself. Now the Dark Web Genre has remained Pretty fucking Popular and which has its Own Subgenres.

For Example the Dark Web Mystery Box Videos where a YouTuber Orders a Box Off the Dark Web with Unknown Contents. Then when it Arrives They Open it on Camera/Live Stream and Reveal the Contents of Said Box. There Also there are Cautionary Tales from of Dark Web in the form of Horror Stories, and These Stories have a rather fucking generic Template. These Stories are about Someone who went on the Dark Web, Fucked Around, and Subsequently Something Seriously fucked up Happened to Them. They’re Dark Web Educational Videos where a YouTuber Breaks Down the Levels of the Internet from the Surface Web to the Dark Web. They then Usual finish the Video Warning Against Ever accessing the Dark Web and that its Insanely Dangerous to fuck around with Period.

Today the Dark Web Subgenre We will be Addressing are the Plentiful Surfing the Dark Web Videos. These Type of Videos are Simplistic to make and Unfortunately They’re Basically fucking Identical to One Another. The Videos start with the YouTuber Hyping the Dangers of all the Crazy Shit found on the Dark Web. The YouTuber then talks about Security (VPN) and Software (Tor) You need or should have if You plan on Venturing onto the Dark Web. After that the YouTuber typically says some Corny shit like “So We’re going to Surf the Dark Web so You Don’t have to” and Off We go. The YouTuber Logs onto the Dark Web and Immediately Hits up Hidden Wiki and Explains that its like Wiki, but for Demented Dark Web Sites. Next thing after Hitting Up Hidden Wiki said YouTuber Scrolls around Listing the Usual Sick and Twisted Dark Web Sites or Topics that People are Fascinated with.

Here are the Aforementioned Popular Dark Web Topics/Sites/Subjects:

Let’s just Address the fucking Elephant in the Room First and Foremost. It’s fucking Revolting that the Largest Group of Scumfucks on the Dark Web are fucking Sleezy fucking Pedophiles. Due to the Utterly Insane Concentration of Pedophiles inhabiting the Dark Web means unfortunately the Largest Category on the Dark Web is Child Pornography (CP). In Our Opinion these Vile Motherfucking Pieces of Shit should be Hunted Down, Dragged Out into the Street, Exposed to the World/Community, Beaten Mercilessly, and then Publicly Executed with it being Streamed Live on the Internet, Shown in Real Time on TV, and Announced Play by Play on the Radio.

Another Big Time Dark Web Category is Drugs because People love Drugs. People love taking Drugs, Talking About Drugs, and Inventing/Finding New Drugs to Experiment with. As far as We are Concerned While it is Tempting to Attempt to Score Drugs Off the Dark Web from the Anonymity of Home, yet it’s an Absolutely Retarded thing to Do. With that Said We Believe Wholeheartedly that if You try to Score Drugs from the Dark Web 1 of 3 Things will Happen. First You get Ripped Off when You send the Funds and the Recipient Grabs the Cash and Vanishes. Second if You actually do Order Drugs off the Dark Web and Receive it in the Mail there is a HUGE chance that whatever the fuck was Sent is Fake or Contaminated (Example:The Addition of Fentanyl especially in Heroin). The Last Option is the Acceptation to The Rule Personifiedwhich would be if You order Drugs, Receive Them, and They are Real and Uncontaminated.

Now the Only Acceptation to the Rule when it came to Scoring Drugs Off the Dark Web was the Dark Web Site Known as Silk Road. Silk Road had a Unique insurance Policy when it came to Protecting the Customer as well as Their Cash. The Policy was Simple but Incredibly Effective as it Manifested in just One Singular Rule: Don’t Rip Off Silk Road’s Customers! To Enforce this Policy if a Dealer Stole Someones Cash or Sent Them Fake Shit or Total Garbage the Dealer in Question would be Banned from the Site Permanently. So why the fuck did the Various Drug Dealers Comply with this Policy? Well its an Easy Answer Silk Road was so Successful and Profitable Dealers Didn’t want to get Banned because They would lose a Major Source of Income.

Another sought after Dark Web Category is Guns because like Drugs People have an Intense Affinity for Firearms. The Odd thing about the Firearms Category is that in Reality it’s much Smaller than You would Think. Most of the Weapons Advertised for Sale are mainly Hand Guns, but once in a Blue Moon You can come Across Something Unusual and Completely Unrealistic such as an RPG (Rocket Propelled Grenade). Once again in Our Opinion if You Order a Gun off the Dark Web Chances are You’re going to get Ripped Off and That’s it. The Other Possibility is if You Buy a Gun off the Dark Web and it Arrives there is a Very Good Chance that it’s been Used in a Crime or Worse used in a Murder. If the Gun You Purchased has in fact been Used in a Crime or Homicide and the Authorities get involved that Crime/Murder You’ll be Held Responsible. It’s Extremely Hard to Claim Your Innocence if You’re in Possession of the Gun in Question.

There is Yet Another Hot Dark Web Topic which are the Hitman For Hire Sites. Now it’s Pretty fucking Safe to Assume that (even though it isn’t Out of the Realm of Possibility) these Sites are 100% Unadulterated Horseshit. As Far as We are Concerned these Sites are a Total fucking Scam. This is the Easiest fucking Way to Steal some Gullible Dipshit’s Money because all You have to do is Create the Site. Then You just List a Bunch of Sinister Services that are Complete Bullshit that’s made the fuck up or Stolen Straight out of a Shitty B Action Movie. These Sites make the Owners feel like Dark Web Badasses when in Reality They’re the People who got Picked On in High School. Not to Mention there is a Very Good Chance that the alleged Hitman besides being a Thief could be a Cop or Government Agent. The Authorities have been Known to Lurk on the Dark Web Posing as Hitmen to Entrap an Unknowing Idiot.

Speaking of People for Hire Off the Dark Web the Other Category besides Hitmen For Hire are the Hackers For Hire. This may seem More Tangible than trying to Hire a Real Life Hitman, but it is None the Less 99% Bullshit. Again More than Likely Your Money will be Stolen and that’s the End of That. There is also the Threat that a Hacker You communicate with or Hire could be a Shitbag Criminal who would end up Hacking You and Your Shit. Just like with the Hitmen For Hire the Hackers For Hire could Very Well be a Police Officer posing as a Hacker in which case Your getting Your ass Arrested. Now there is a SLIGHT Possibility that there are indeed Actual Real Hackers For Hire on the Dark Web, but They are damn near impossible to Locate in a Dark Web Sea of Scummy Shit filled with Fakes, Fraudsters, Thieves, and Scammers.

If there is a Number One Category that Contributes to the Urban Legend Reputation is the Mythical and Mysterious RED ROOMS. Red Rooms are something Straight Out of a Torture Porn Horror Movie where an Unknown Victim is Kidnapped and Held Captive. Then at a Predesignated Date and Time the Victim is Tortured and Killed in Real Time on a Dark Wed Livestream. No Matter What Red Rooms are Pay-Per-View, but that’s Not the Darkest Part of Red Rooms. Allegedly those who are into Red Rooms are able to Pay more then the Basic Viewing Fee for Certain Perks such as Being able to Instruct the Torturer to Preform Particular Acts (Example: Cut Off Nose, Break Legs, Kneecap Etc.). For all Their Ominous Show Boating and in spite that they are a Morbid Curiosity Not a Single fucking Real Red Room is Real, and there is Absolutely No proof or Evidence of any Actual Red Room EVER Existing. In Our Opinion the Bottomline is Red Rooms are just Horror Themed Nightmare Fuel for the Masses and are Fictitious as Unicorns.

The Point of it All is that Yes while there Plenty of Fake Shit run by Thieves on the Dark Web there are Serious fucked up Sites and even More fucked up Users. Bottomline if You wouldn’t Walk through a Shitty Neighborhood in the Middle of the Night without a Phone or Weapon then Stay the fuck Off the Dark Web.

It is What it Is,

 By Les Sober

The Alienation of Alaska

Lets face it there are only 3 different types of People that reside in the Beautifully Brutal Environment of Alaska. Life even in the most populated places in Alaska (like Anchorage for example) day to day life provides a bleak existence cut off from the rest of the Civilized World.

The Weather with its prolonged Winters, Bizarre Daylight Issues, and Freezing Temperatures is only one reason that Regular People visit, but don’t move to Alaska.

The Other is the effects of the Extreme Isolation, a  virtual Plague of Loneliness and Absolute Alienation.

Living that remotely removed from Established Society can wreak havoc on a Persons Sanity causing anything from Paranoia, Aggression, Crippling Depression, Psychosis, Hallucinations (Auditory as well as Visual), and Delusional Thinking, and thats not nearly all.

Point Being Cabin Fever is VERY REAL.

So considering its Foreboding Reputation based on the Harsh Reality of Life in Alaska it truly takes a particular type of person to not just live but even exist there. For Anyone that is not just willing to, but that can also successfully endure the Alienation (and the untamed Wilderness) that is Alaska.

You might be thinking to yourself who ARE the 3 types of People be one might ask themselves, and heres the answer for those who are wondering.

Now the First Personality Type of living in Alaska is quite obviously the Inuits who are the Indigenous Native People of Alaska whose Families, and Ancestor’s have lived long  before recorded time. So it makes perfect sense why they call Alaska Home.

The Second Personality Type that inhabits the grand State of Alaska are the detrimentally Anti-Social motherfuckers.

I’m talking text fucking book Anti-Social Personality Disorder which is one of the most destructive disorders ever Diagnosed. This disorder can cause (One, Some or All)  behavioral problems such as Deceitfulness, Hostility, Aggression, Impulsivity, Irritability, Lack of Restraint, Manipulativeness, Lying, and lack of regard for Their or Others Safety.

These are simply those People who are SO FUCKED in the Head that they CAN’T and Won’t be a Part of any Society whatsoever.

The Last Personality Type One finds living in Alaska are Those People who are running from something, and that something is usually the Law. And why not Alaska is a perfect place to go if One doesn’t want to be found, it is for all intensive purposes Off The Grid.

Now not all of These People are hardened Criminals, some are running to avoid IRS Problems or are Dead Beat Asshole Dads escaping the obligation of Child Support.

Don’t get Me wrong Though there plenty of  Seriously Hardcore Criminals that came to Alaska to avoid Prosecution. Gang Members, Members of Organized Crime, Murderers, Drug Dealers, and Sex Offenders all using Alaska as a last refuge outside of a Life In Prison.

In Summation the 3 Personality Types That Dwell in Alaska are The Indigenous Natives The Inuit, Anti-Social Basket Cases, and Assorted Criminals/Criminal Elements.

So Come VISIT ALASKA because living there SUCKS BIG TIME.

Thanks for Reading,

 By Les Sober

The Second Time Isn’t “The Charm”

This is the Tale of My Second Arrest which is exactly the opposite of My First.

My life at that point was utter shit. I was in the grips of of hardcore Drug Addiction. The apartment I was occupying was really quite nice when I moved in, but at this point do to neglect had become a run down hellhole. I spent all my time with my with my asshole neighbor Big Douche desperately scheming and scamming, lying and Cheating, Stealing and Robbing anything for a fucking dollar.

Once we had some cash we’d get drunk as fuck and then go score some crack. Once we smoked up all the crack we went and bought Heroin. This was a endless daily cycle .

In reality I fucking hated Big Douche and would think about killing him in his sleep constantly. He truly was a fucked up fucking asshole of a human being, too fucking damaged to ever be fixed. Big Douche was the definition of a Lost Cause. I’ll digress for now since The Tale of Big Douche will be forthcoming.

So one afternoon we had managed to scrounge up enough cash for a couple of bags of Heroin, and headed out to our usual copping spot.

I’m going to pause here to take a minute to explain exactly where we scored our shit.

I/We lived in a bustling little suburbia that was a short 15 minute drive into the State’s Capital City. Now once a go the Capital City was a rich and prosperous area full of business. Then the businesses left and so did anyone who could fucking afford to. Over the years the City decayed as it hemorrhaged money through failed attempts to improve the City.

A perfect example is the Capital City spent MILLIONS to build a Sports Stadium in the City (rather than on the outskirts) and it was an instant epic failure. See because they built the Stadium IN the city there was INSUFFICIENT PARKING.

This meant Attendees had to park on the street(s) and walk to the Stadium. The only issue with that was NO ONE wanted to walk down said streets especially with their loved ones or kids. The City even tried combating the problem by stationing a Cop on every outlying corner, AND THAT DIDN’T WORK EITHER, but I digress.

We drove through the filthy trash littered streets lined with old decrepit old houses rotting away through the years.

On any given day We’d see the wandering Hookers, Homeless Begging Bums, Gang Bangers, Pimps, Junkies, Poverty, Stray Cats and Dogs, Crackheads, Drug Dealers, and other of life’s rejected throw aways lurking and loitering on the corners or walking between/among them.

On this particular day the streets were completely vacant there wasn’t a single soul in sight. We drove around several different blocks, but it was all the same the streets were all utterly empty.

I had a bad feeling. A Gut Feeling and not a good one.

The only reason that the usual degenerates wouldn’t be out pounding the streets (committing various dastardly deeds) was a simple one. Just two simple words: Police Activity.

The Police were the preverbal Lights that when flipped on sends the Rats and Roaches scrambling for cover of any kind.

I told Big Douche that we should bail and come back later because obviously something was going on that was making the Natives Restless if you will. Now Big Douche living up to his name continued to relentlessly circle block after block searching for anyone who might be a Dope Dealer. He was franticly obsessed the way Junkies do when their fiending for a fix.

At last right as Big Douche finally was giving up we drove up on a Bodega and a Large (and rather fat) Guy strode out the door. Big Douche being a Junkie immediately decides this is a person is a drug dealer and signals him as it were.

The Guy signals back. I’m pissed as pissed can get because I couldn’t believe we hadn’t bounced yet, and that Big Douche was being a complete cunt. In some bizarre passive aggressive bullshit I deliberately didn’t look at, talk to or even acknowledged The Guy.

The Guy reaches through the drivers side window and does the exchange. Instead of driving off like a good little junkie Big Douche stops to look at the couple bags of Dope, and notices (again being a good little junkie) that the Heroin looks funny. It looks fake. Fake as a motherfucker.

Big Douche leans over and calls the Guy out stating that the Guy’s dope looks beat as shit. The Guy denies it and keeps trying to brush us off. Big Douche then decides he wants his money back (Yeah thats right he wanted the Drug Dealer to refund his money for selling him fake Heroin) and opens the Driver’s door and stood  between the car and the car door arguing with the Guy.

Eventually like a junkie Big Douche stops arguing and starts begging like a big ass bitch. The Guy doesn’t want to hear a single fucking word about it. Big Douche at last accepts defeat and we start to pull away from the curb.

That’s when I saw it, thats when I knew we were fucked. What I saw was the Guy raising his arm to wave in the Cops who were hiding around the way in. The next thing we knew the Cops had 3 cars pinning us in as other Cops ran up to the car yelling like a bunch a savage assholes.

We get out of the car, handcuffed, and then driven around the corner so the Cops entrapment spot wouldn’t get blown up. They transferred us into additional Cop cars and took us to the Police Station.

Once we got there Big Douche was booked, Processed, and sent to County Jail on a slew of yet undressed charges.

I was a bit luckier since I did;t have any outstanding legal issues I was booked and then released on my own recognizance. I was also given a court date the following day.

Needless to say I didn’t sleep that night. I unplugged the phone because Big Douche keep calling asking for me to help contact people to come bail him out. I could have cared less as I was worried about being locked up the very next day.

Unlike my first arrest there was no time in-between my arrest and my trial. It happened so fast I’m really not sure if I even had a court appointed Lawyer (I don’t remember talking or meeting with one at all). I went to my court date, and I remember sitting alone in the court room as the Judge worked his way down the days docket. He finally gets to me and I remember I stood up and remained standing in the same spot.

I remember this Judge some old nasty bastard who lectured me for what seemed like fucking hours about how Drug Addicts are coming into the City to score their drugs which in turn is destroying the City itself.

BULL-FUCKING-SHIT.

First there THOUSANDS of drug addicts in the Judge’s fantastical City. And the only reason Drug Addicts were coming to his City was due to the fact THATS WHERE THE FUCKING DRUG DEALERS ARE. Also as I mentioned earlier the “Fine City” the Judge spoke of was and still is a Growing, Thriving, and Worsening SHITHOLE.

Once the cranky old cocksucker of a Judge wraps up his bullshit tirade he sentenced me to 90 Days Suspended Sentence. The first time I was arrested I got 3 years Probation with a ton of added conditions (all of which I violated like a motherfucker).

This time I simply had to stay out of trouble (aka Get Arrested Again) for 90 days then I’d be off the legal hook, and the arrest would be expunged from my Police Record.

Luckily I managed not to get arrested again (in those 90 days and ever again) though I continued to spend my days living the life of a junkie which by definition requires breaking laws left and right.

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober 

Yet Another Reason Not To Visit Mexico

One day my good friend Danka and I were drinking on the stoop of Danka’s house playing the “Most Fucked Up Story Game”. The game is rudimentary and simplistic. The goal is to tell the most fucked up story of the evening thus becoming the winner.

Dana served a short time in the United States Navy before being discharged for being an Alcoholic who was “Derelict of Duty” or some stupidly phrased bullshit statement. You see Danka had a habit of going binge drinking while on shore leave which resulted in a semi concous Danka being dragged to returning to the ship for check in by his fellow soldiers. Finally Danka out did even himself by missing Check In in favor of chilling at some waitresses’s apartment he was hooking up with in Tijuana, eating Captain Crunch cereal, and watching American cartoons in Spanish. Well that was the final straw that broke the preverbal Camal’s back, and the Navy booted Danka instructing him never to return to any branch of the United States Military ever again.

Before being unceremoniously kicked out of the Navy Danka had spent several months down in Tijuana Mexico were he was temporarily stationed for some fucking Navy related reason. While in Tijuana Danka learned some  tactics for day to day safety and survival that weren’t taught in the Navy. It was simply how to navigate daily life in Tijuana without running into trouble with Thieves, Drug Dealers, Pimps, Gangs, Cartels, Muggers, Car Jackers, Con Artists, Drug Addicts, Hookers, Ex Convicts, Militias and Corrupt Cops.

Now with the corrupt Cops it was basic Extortion. If a Tourist per say wandered into the wrong neighborhood the Cops would arrest them, and then drive them directly to an ATM. The Police Officers would then demand a bribe of usually $300 U.S., BUT if you refused to pay they would take you to jail on some bullshit trumped up charge. While it goes without saying that Jail fucking sucks, and is one of the last places anyone would want to find themselves especially in a foreign 3rd World Country. Mexican Jails have a foul reputation for being filthy, over crowded, understaffed, Bribing of Guards, Murders, Rapes, and inhumane living conditions for the most part.

This is what happened to Danka’s buddy named Blackburn. Blackburn was on shore leave and had had a few drinks when he wondered off the main fairway into a shitty neighborhood. While desperately trying to find his way back, which was complicated by his intoxication, Blackburn was picked up by a couple of Corrupt Cops looking for a quick pay day. The Cops drove Blackburn to the ATM and demanded payment ($300 U.S. per Officer times 2 for a total of $600 U.S.), and Blackburn told them too fuck off because he wasn’t giving them a single goddamn cent. So the Cops threw Blackburn into the back of the squad car, but instead of taking him to the nearest shithole jail they drove him to a sleazy Dive Bar on the outskirts of the city that featured Nightly Donkey Shows (if you don’t know what a Donkey Show is Google it) The police shoved Blackburn into the dimly lit backroom of the Bar and tied him to a rickety wooden chair. The Police then proceeded to sell Blackburn to the Bar owner for $775 U.S. and then left quickly.

The Bar owner had one of his cronies take Blackburn out back to a Small Barn located next to the Bar. Once there Blackburn was stripped buck naked and tied to a barn post. The Bar Owner’s henchmen then ground up 3 or 4 bottles of Viagra and mix them with a quarter ounce of Crystal Meth. Once the concoction was full mixed together the Side Kicks laced a 32 ounce Corona with it, and then fed it to a Donkey that was penned up in a cramped stall. About 50 minutes later the Donkey had a raging 18 inch erection and was violently kicking the sides of the pen. One of the Cronies then untied Blackburn from the post, and then tied his hands behind his back while the other crony aggressively lassoed the inscenced Donkey. The 3 men and the doped up Donkey then made their way over to the Bar and entered through a side delivery entrance.

The Bar smelled like hot stale beer and body oder mixed with piss. There were a handful of patrons spread out through out the Bar that was so smoky it was like being trapped in a fucking mist or some shit. The Henchman responsible for Blackburn took him over to a worn out Pummel Horse that was held together with Duct Tape. He then bent Blackburn over the Pummel Horse and bound Blackburn’s wrists and ankles together. Next a shitfaced MC comes on a beat 1972 PA System to announce the Nightly Donkey Show is Starting. After a short pause to allow the Bar Patrons time to freshen their drinks and light a smoke the 2nd Henchman dragged the Donkey over fighting it every step of the way. As the Donkey was being brought over the Bar Owner came over to Blackburn and sprayed him with Female Donkey Pheromones and Menstrual Blood to get the deranged drugged up Donkey’s attention. It worked. It worked extremely well. In an instant the Donkey got a whiff of Blackburn and galloped over to him, and mounted Blackburn placing its front legs on Pummel Horse on either side of Blackburn. As soon as the Donkey penetrated Blackburn it went fuck wild, this Donkey wasn’t playing “Just The Tip” with Blackburn he was slamming shaft balls deep in Blackburn’s battered butthole. It took about 17 minutes before the Donkey finally completed and its semen was seeping out of Blackburn’s broken butthole like a garden hose.

Blackburn was about to be loaded into a car and left to die of his injuries in the Desert to die when the a group of American Military Police busted in the front door of the Bar with a vengeance. Blackburn had to be taken out on a fucking stretcher and Medivaced by Helicopter to a Special Surgical Trauma Hospital in Seattle Washington. Blackburn lived after spending the better part of a year in the Hospital where the Surgeons removed just over 8 feet of his intestines, rebuilt his bowls, reconstructed his rectum, and stitched up his sphincter. Blackburn was discharged from the Navy Under Section 8 Status due to his Donkey Rape induced PTSD. He moved home to Shasta South Dakota and lives in his Mom’s basement on permanent disability watching Anime while drooling on himself while playing with his pecker making guttural sounds.

Needless to say there was no fucking way I could top that Tale of Terror in Tijuana so Danka went home that night quite drunk and the most fucked up story winner.

Thanks For Das READ,

 

Les Sober 

Catalog Of Humanity (The Vile Version)

The once grand city fell into the continuing chaos of decades of decay,

The businesses and those with money have abandoned this sickening city,

The whores loitering outside of the local liquor store looking for love,

The strung out narcotic zombie working the corner cleaning windshields to feed his abominable addiction,

The open festering sores that line the limbs of the homeless,

The panhandler suffering through withdraw from drink or drug fidgeting in the door way of a flea bag motel,

The flop house littered with junkies cooking up and shooting up nodding their nightmares away,

The constant flickering of lighters from the derelict row home windows reminiscent of fire flies as the crack pipes burn on,

The entire city is a cess pool engulfed in the putrid stench of a sewer,

The crooked cops riding around in the streets high on their own brutality like Nazis scumbag sons of bitches,

The dirty little convince stores selling single cigarettes and lottery scratchers to the soulless and the suffering,

The dim florescent glow from dive bars windows beckoning the bums inside for a glass of piss poor beer,

The screaming machinery bellowing like a banshee from the chop shops,

The junkyard dogs chained up in yards of dirt, clumps of weeds, and piles of its own shit,

The pimps perched like perverted gargoyles waiting to be paid by their beaten and broken bitches,

The asshole teenagers from the suburbs driving into the city to prey on the unfortunate,

The drug dealers posting up on the street corners peddling potent poisons,

The gangs who wage an endless war of horror over disputed territories,

The bouncer ejecting a greasy client from the shadows of a back room illegal casino,

The overlapping layers of spray paint so thick one can’t tell the walls original color,

The plagues of rats and roaches devouring the city turning it into shit,

The cold gray fermentable walls of the State Prison looming large casting its silhouette across the southern side of the city,

The now defunct factories slowly rotting away in the winds of time,

The dead Vietnam vet who overdosed in his cardboard condo decomposing as his body waits to be found,

The piles of foul garbage that choke up the entrances to allies,

The deep brown tap water thats murky like mud,

The squatters that inhabit the vast city cemetery emerge under the dark cloak of the encroaching night to forage for food,

The front stairs of the court house teems with lawyers and defendants debating their legal fates,

The Public assistance offices are over crowded and under staffed as the government gives up on the poor,

The sea of condoms that surround the dumpster out back of the check cashing store where hookers trade in dick for dollars,

The methhead on a 4 day bender thats furiously fucking a dead pigeon in the desolate park,

The the old deranged mentally ill man who wonders the streets arguing with himself and losing,

The inhabitants of tent city sit around their make shift fires roasting their catch of stray cats for diner,

The bankrupt arena the city built without proper parking at the corner of Rape and Heroin,

The drunken man beating his kids since he wore out his wife before his tv diner,

The dead and the dying wallowing in squalor and their lost faith,

The cries of an unwanted baby unceremoniously deposited in a garbage dumpster by a terrified teenage mother,

The distinct crunch of empty crack files mixed with broken beer bottles under ones feet as they walk down the street,

The nightly fist fights that break out in the city’s central soup kitchen,

The crumbling churches now just idle monuments to a bygone god,

And this city of shit could be any city, all cities dying from industrial death,

And forgotten by history and humanity alike.

I Was A Teenage Murder Junkie Part 1 of 2

The first time I heard “Bite It You Scum” by G.G. Allin and The Murder Junkies, I was standing in the dungeon-like basement of The Barfly Lounge somewhere in the bowels of Philadelphia’s less then desirable south side, which was the only venue that would host a G.G. Allin and The Murder Junkies show. I was with my two work partners in crime Mike (a photographer) and Chuck ( Event liaison) who had found out about the concert the previous month while visiting Chuck’s sister who lived on South Street in Philly. This was the pre-internet era so the only way for unsigned bands to promote their shows was papering every free surface with flyers up and down the street. They also relied heavily on the power of word of mouth. It was one of those flyers, tacked to a telephone pole, that Chuck saw as he was walking down the street on his way to buy a pack of cigarettes. We decided it was a show that was a once in a life time chance not to be missed. So Chuck had approached our editor Vincent V. at “Grind Spine” magazine where all three of us were currently working while taking some time off before college.
We had made the hour long drive over to Philly from Gitsville NJ in Chuck’s car which in all due favor was a complete junker. The driver’s door shook so bad you thought at any second it would pop open. The speedometer was not to be trusted. There was a hole in the floor board. The radio only got one AM station, and the car seemed to have a front head light that was eternally out. When we arrived at the bar there was no appropriate parking so we had to park on the street four blocks away and walk. The corners were inhabited by hookers and drug dealers. The streets were lined with litter and more than a few homeless panhandlers. This was the type of neighborhood that if you drove through it you wouldn’t stop at red lights. Finally, we got back to the bar unscathed and in one piece, and then the door man (who looked to actually be a local biker) barely glanced at ID’s before letting us in with the stern warning “You guys don’t start any shit and I won’t have to beat the shit out of you.”
After such nice parting words from the doorman, the three of us shuffled single file through the narrow doorway of the bar. The Barfly Lounge was a small and rather cramped 500 square feet with an L shaped bar to the left. The right side of the room hosted a motley crew of tools, chairs, and wobbly tables. The only apparent patrons in the bar looked like a small group of local regulars from the surrounding neighborhood most sitting hunched over at the bar, a beer clutched tightly in one hand, and either a lit cigarette or shot glass in the other. The lighting in the bar was well beyond dim as the few spare lights that hung from the ceiling were enveloped in a thick pungent cloud of smoke that hovered like a smog cloud over Los Angeles. The thing I will remember most about The Barfly till the day I die was the overwhelmingly putrid stench, a vile smelling mix of stale beer, body odor, cigarette smoke and what we all assumed to be vomit.
“The show is in the basement. The door is in the back, next to the restroom.” said the bartender in a deep gravely voice reminiscent of Tom Waits. We slowly made our way to the back of the bar trying to see where we were going in order to avoid tripping or worse, falling onto the cesspit of a floor, and as we walked by a few of the weary down trodden customers lifted their heads just enough to stare at us as we passed. The door to the basement was a hideous dark green and had a thick greasy coat of nicotine . We cautiously proceeded down the bare concrete stairs I couldn’t help thinking that I had seen plenty of horror movies that started like this. We entered the gloomy basement which smelled so heavily of mold and mildew you had to wonder how being in this environment could negatively affect your respiratory system. We had come to far to turn back. The only light in the dank basement were the stage lights which were actually quite intense with a white light that almost felt like when you stared into the sun as a kid. Rusty exposed pipes hung from the ceiling several had been patched with duct tape and were in various stages of deterioration. There were only a handful of people lingering around waiting for the show to start in growing impatience. There was a thin lanky man about six foot two who looked like he weighed 160 pounds soaking wet and was no doubt a junkie, but he was a junkie selling 16 ounce cans of Budweiser for $3.00 a piece out of a couple of dirty igloo coolers at his feet to fund his heroin habit. Suddenly the The Murder Junkies (G.G. Allin’s last backing band before his death in 1993)  wandered lazily onto the stage where the bassist and guitarist plugged in their instruments and did a quick tune up. The drummer came out completely naked fully having earned the nickname Dino The Naked Drummer (who played naked so while drumming his clothes wouldn’t chafe his skin) and sat down behind the drums looking a bit lost as usual. It was then I became aware as I was watching the cliches and stragglers about fifty people or so had piled into the basement behind us, but were standing at the back of the room the farthest they could from the stage. The band all of a sudden launched full tilt into one of their signature songs “Bite It You Scum” and the crowd went feral. A young man who identified himself as Unk asked if we had been to a G.G. Allin show before and we said no we hadn’t. Unk went on to tell us he had found the safest place to be at G.G. Allin shows and that was behind him. No sooner had Unk finished speaking than the man referred to as the most spectacular degenerate in rock-n-roll history took the stage.